


Winter

by aintitnifty



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Gen, I Had A Lot of New 52 Feelings, None of Them Were Good, This Is What Came of Them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 19:33:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/904048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aintitnifty/pseuds/aintitnifty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One partnership is broken, and another begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter

He is late.

Damian pulls his cape tightly around his shoulders and hunkers down against the freezing wind. His cheeks tingle with cold and he can no longer feel his nose and he's starting to shiver and _damn it_ , why isn’t Grayson _here_ yet? He had said he might be late, but this was getting ridiculous.

Irritated, Damian whips out his communicator. It takes Grayson four seconds to answer.

“Hey, li'l D.”

Odd. He sounds almost… somber.

“Where the hell are you?” Damian demands. “You were supposed to meet me for patrol almost twenty minutes ago. It’s freezing and I’m getting impatient.”

“Oh. Sorry, kid,” Grayson says. “I’ve been… tied up, I guess. It’s being taken care of.”

Damian scoffs. _Idiot._

“Fine,” he says. “When will you be here?”

Grayson draws a tremulous breath.

“… D, I’m not coming.”

A chill runs down Damian's spine that has nothing to do with the weather. His hand clenches around the communicator.

“What are you talking about?” he asks. “Has something happened? Are you injured?”

“No, I’m fine, it’s just…” Grayson pauses again and it’s the hesitancy that's alarming. Grayson doesn't hesitate. Grayson leaps before he looks. Grayson has confidence pouring from his veins. He _never_ hesitates. “It’s really complicated, okay? I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to work without me for a while.”

A snarl tugs at Damian's chapped lips.

“But what if I don’t _want_ to work without you?” he snaps, forcing frozen limbs into a standing position. The wind whips at his cape but the cold is the least of his worries at the moment.

“Damian…”

Grayson uses his name. He uses his name over a _possibly open line_.

This is serious.

“I thought _you_ were the one who kept insisting we were partners,” Damian says, almost yelling now over the frigid wind. His hand is shaking around the damn communicator but he cannot tell whether it’s because of the cold or his sudden anxiety and at the moment, he really couldn't care less.

“Damian, I –”

“Has something happened to you?” Damian demands. “Why--?” His voice breaks for one terrible second but he barrels on, ignoring the sensation and the sudden blurring of his vision. _Damn this wind._ “Why don’t you want to work with me anymore? Have I finally disappointed you somehow?” This last comes out as a full-on snarl, and Damian wants to take it back as soon as it's uttered. _Too much_ , he thinks. _Don't show weakness, don't show fear._

“Damian.” Grayson's voice is urgent, earnest. Almost pleading. “Damian, I _love_ working with you. And I’m sure we can work together in the future. But for now, I need you to cooperate. _Please._ This is out of my hands, I swear.”

Damian doesn’t know what else to say. He stares into the blue-tinted glow of Gotham and lets his hand – the one holding the communicator – drop slowly to his side.

For the first time in a long time, he feels alone.

There is a gargoyle beneath his feet and the communicator hums in his hand and he sees two pedestrians strolling hand-in-hand far below, but he feels so utterly alone.

He lifts the communicator to his ear again.

“… Grayson?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re leaving, aren’t you? To be Nightwing again.”

"... Yes.”

Damian licks his lips, but it only makes them sting more. “Where are you going?”

“I’m... not sure yet.”

A large part of Damian – the freezing part, the part that started to tremble as soon as Grayson started speaking – doesn't want to ask the next question, but he is not a child. He is Robin. He is the son of the Batman. And he needs information.

“Will I…” Damian swallows, trying to make his voice stronger than it is. The cold must be affecting him more than he thought. “Will you be back at some point?”

Grayson laughs a little, distantly, and it shoots right through Damian. Painful. Achingly familiar. He thinks he's going to miss that.

“Of course I will,” Grayson says, but it’s a small comfort. "This isn't a permanent good-bye. You couldn't actually get rid of me if you tried."

“Okay.”

They remain silent for a while, but the communicator stays on. When the wind dies down a little Damian can hear Grayson breathe. He clings to the sound by clinging to the little communicator. The plastic creaks beneath his gauntlets.

And then Grayson starts to talk. Nothing very important, really. He starts out just describing something he saw on television, something about a circus that made him think of his childhood. Then he starts talking about our first job together, with Professor Pyg, and eventually his voice is just a soothing background noise, calm and relentless against the raging wind. Damian realizes vaguely that he sat back down at some point. The stone of the gargoyle is freezing against his backside. He tells Grayson so. Grayson laughs.

“See? We can get through this, li'l D,” he says. “It’s not like I’ll be in China. I’m only a phone call away.”

“That’s such a cheesy line, Grayson.”

A chuckle. “Maybe." Another pause, weighty in the quiet. "You know that I’ll always be here for you, though, right? No matter how cheesy it sounds.”

There it is again, that damn lump in Damian's throat, and the wind is making his eyes water again. He tries to swipe at them through his mask.

“Whatever,” he grumbles, because he doesn't quite have the heart to mock that particular cheesy line.

“Good.” Grayson almost sounds like himself again.

“I have another question,” Damian says.

“Shoot.”

“If you’re going back to being Nightwing, then… what happens to me?”

“Nothing. You’re Robin, and Batman still needs a Robin.”

“But you’re not…” Damian trails off as a shadow falls over his perch and the wind suddenly feels less biting. Black silk billows around him, shielding him from the cold, and he looks up into the solemn face of the true Batman.

“Father,” he says.

Batman smiles slightly. “Robin.”

A sad little chuckle comes from the communicator, and Damian hears Grayson say, “Be good, li'l D,” before the line finally clicks off, leaving him in silence.

Damian puts away the communicator with numb fingers and starts to rise. A large, dark-gloved hand appears before him. Damian hesitates only slightly before grasping it, and his father pulls him to his feet with fluid ease. Damian expects Batman to turn away, to order him into action or scold him for dawdling, but the hand holding his does not let go. Black fabric – darker, heavier than what he's used to – folds snugly around him, like a cocoon. He feels oddly secure. Warm. Safe. After a moment, when he's sure Batman isn’t going anywhere, he allows himself to lean against his father’s side, and Batman places a steady arm around him.

Neither speaks.

And then Batman moves away, slowly, almost gently. Damian's hand is still in his. Damian looks at it, and then he looks at his father. Bruce squeezes his fingers.

“Let’s go, Robin,” he says.

And they go.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [on my LJ](http://niftywithan.livejournal.com/25723.html#cutid1). Newly edited.
> 
> Thanks for reading, guys!


End file.
